Of Breaking Boys and Breaking Hearts
by All4thebasilisk
Summary: Great Expectations, Estella's POV


_A/N: I was rereading Great Expectations yesterday, and I remembered this little piece that I had written for school a few years back. Just thought I'd post it!_

The knocking at the door permeates my deep daydream and jolts me to awareness. That must be the boy for whom Mother had sent. I smile. I will not forget my training, for what I was born. My name is Estella Havisham, and I will break that boy's heart.

I open the door quite calmly, mocking the common boy with only my eyes. Has he fallen in love with me yet? It must take a bit more time, but I can be patient, if needed. He is staring at me with the wide-eyed look of a child who was witnessed something alien. I invite him in and debase Pumblechook for some amusement. He is so pompous and full of himself when he comes, and yet his idiocy is apparent.

"Boy! Let your behavior here be a credit unto them which brought you up by hand!" Pumblechook departs with these words, and I smile to myself. Be a credit? I think not.

I lead the boy past the brewery and openly mock his commonness. He doesn't even understand that I am poking fun at him. I bring him to Mother's room, and walk away with my head high. Somewhere deep in my mind, my actions seem cruel, but I brush my doubts aside. This is the job for which I was prepared, and I will play my part admirably.

He calls me a few moments later, and I glide back to the room, though I am truly fuming. How dare the coarse bumpkin call for me as though I were his dog! Mother must have permitted it, though; he is far too timid to do such a daring deed. Indeed, Mother does call me over and toyed with me as she often does, showing off my beauty to the boy. She then tells me to play with him. I, play with a "common labouring-boy?"

I am disturbed at first, but Mother answers my complaint with a reminder of what I must do. "Well? You can break his heart." I frown, but contemptuously ask him what he can play.

I half-expect him to answer that he does not know of any games with cards, but he replies, "Nothing but Beggar my Neighbour, miss."

"Beggar him," Mother tells me. I sit at the table with regal grace, and he stumbles into his seat with all the grace of an elephant. I sneer at him and deal the cards.

Throughout the duration of the game, he constantly sneaks glances at the odder relics in the room. This only serves to make me feel even more superior to the boy who does not even know Mother's story. I mock him ceaselessly throughout the games, finding error in all he does and even his coarse hands and common boots. I win a game and watch the boy carefully. He made several careless errors, and he may have lost on purpose, a sign that he is enamored of me. But no, the boy is just a bumbling fool who cannot even win a game of cards.

At this time, Mother begins to cross-examine the boy. She asks him many questions about me, and as expected, he whispers to her so loudly, I hear every word. He believes me to be proud and insulting, but also very pretty. I inwardly smile, though I keep an air of haughtiness wrapped around me. He has fallen in love with me! I can now break his heart.

After winning a few more games, Mother tells me to take him downstairs and give him something to eat and let him roam. I leave him in the courtyard, then hurry to the kitchen and look for any sort of way to demean him with the food I will bring. I find none, and thus take some bread, meat, and a small mug of beer out to him. I see him staring down at his hands and smirk. He has been affected by my insults enough for it to last beyond the card game!

I throw down his food and ignore him calculatedly, making him feel like an animal. I look down with sudden delight as tears form in his eyes. I must have already broken his heart! My mission has already been successful. But then he stares at me and holds back his sobs, and I leave, annoyed at myself for acting too quickly. He didn't cry, in the end, simply because I was too quick to smile. I leave with the customary disdain.

Mother soon reminds me to go back down and let the boy out, and I do so, seeing his red eyes. I cannot be certain the red is from crying, but I still tell him that I know he wept. It is easy to tell from his expression that I am right. I very nearly shove him out and lock the gate behind him. He is still staring down at his hands. He will probably never forget how I ridiculed them.

As I return to my room, I review the afternoon's events with satisfaction. I may not have been completely effective in hurting him, but he will return. He is already in love with me; I can crush his feelings soon, as I have been raised to do. My name is Estella Havisham, and I will break that boy's heart.


End file.
